


Fly Like Paper, Get High Like Planes

by johnny cade (johnnycake)



Series: Switchblades and Leather [18]
Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Gen, M/M, Runaway, abuse talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnycake/pseuds/johnny%20cade
Summary: Johnny feels like nothing more than a burden, so one night he does something about it and runs away.





	Fly Like Paper, Get High Like Planes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Just Beat It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766398) by [dyingpoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyingpoet/pseuds/dyingpoet). 



> the first thing that came to mind when i decided i wanted to write this was that scene in slumdog millionaire where the main guy and his brother basically live on the train for several years, so that’s where the title came from: paper planes by m.i.a. which is odd bc the song i listened to while writing this was familiar by agnes obel.

" _I fly like paper, get high like planes. If you catch me at the border, I got visas in my name. If you come around here, I make 'em all day. I got one done in a second if you wait._ "

\- M.I.A.

It always started with something small: the dishes not being done, bad grades at school, sometimes even asking for seconds after dinner or going on a walk when his parents didn’t want him to could leave Johnny with a split lip and a bruised cheek and tears forming in his eyes. The gang thought he didn’t cry that much, that he took every beating with an emotionless expression and that was only because he forced himself not to when he knew they were around. He didn’t want them to think he was a pathetic crybaby, even though that was exactly what he was.

He laughed bitterly as he staggered out the door, stumbling back into the door as he looked into the house to see if anyone was coming after him, thinking that if he had a nickle or even just a penny for every time he left his house with a busted lip and a bruised face, he’d have enough money to buy the place and burn it to the ground. But even as he thought that, he knew burning it to the ground wouldn’t really solve anything. It wouldn’t even make him feel better. It would just make him warm. And not even for that long either. And that was what made him grimace, running his hands up into his hair and pulling them violently down, ripping out a few strands in the process.

This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

He wasn’t sure how far he’d gone before he stopped walking, swaying on his feet as the world blurred around him from the tears swimming in his eyes. He watched the sky and the tops of the trees turn in circles around him as he sat heavily on the curb. His gaze shifted to the road and he saw there was a large crack that went from one side of the road to the other. He couldn’t see where it ended, everything got blurry about halfway across and that was from the tears in his eyes.

Biting his split lip, Johnny wrapped his arms around himself, hating himself for being upset over almost nothing. His parents didn’t love him, sure, but he’d known that for a while now, his whole life, in fact. And it wasn’t like bruised ribs, a busted lip, and a bruised face were anything new to him either. So why was he sitting here hugging and rocking himself, while crying as silently as he was able sitting all alone on the curb?

Vaguely, he remembered asking Dallas once what he thought of his parents, and he’d watched as Dallas pressed his lips into a thin line, clenched his hands into fists and told Johnny yet again that he would kill them if he could. And Johnny knew that was no exaggeration either. He’d overheard Darry tell Steve and Two-Bit about all the times he’d had to stop Dally from doing exactly that.

It made him wonder how the rest of the gang felt about his family. Did they want to kill them too? Or did they think they couldn’t be that bad or couldn’t know that they were that bad, since the only side of the story they ever saw was Johnny’s?

Not for the first time, Johnny wished he could feel that way about them. He didn’t know why he loved them when they’d never once shown love towards him. Maybe it was because everyone else was tough and he wasn’t. A part of him felt he would never really know the answer. Another part of him felt that the answer was out there and he just didn’t know where to look to find it.

He clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists and grit his teeth so hard is jaw hurt. He was still shaking badly as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, still grimacing as he did so, until he saw stars and every color of the rainbow burst behind his eyes. Then he stopped and opened them and watched the world slowly reveal itself through the patches of gray that initially covered it all as he forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he did so.

Looking at the sky, he studied the moon, trying to figure out what time it was by the position of the stars in the sky. Ponyboy had told him how once, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d said now and it hardly mattered anyway. He could’ve been sitting on that curb for hours and he never would’ve known the difference. That was what happened when he got trapped in his head like that. The world went on turning and he didn’t notice until his thoughts released him.

Grimacing again, he tore his gaze away from the stars, his hands tugging at his hair again. As they ripped downwards again, he shouted. Nothing coherent. No words. Just an agonized shout. Something that would’ve gotten the neighbors to come outside if this were any other neighborhood.

He bit his lip so hard it started bleeding again. His nails were too short to dig into his palms, he bit them so often, but in that moment he wished he didn’t. He had his knife in his back pocket, but, while he didn’t think anyone was going to come outside and see him standing by the curb at one in the morning, he didn’t want to risk them seeing him doing something much worse than that. With long nails he could scratch himself and no one would say anything. No one would know the difference.

A car turned down the street, the headlights making a wide sweeping arc before landing on Johnny who immediately turned on his heel, shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking quickly down the street. He didn’t want to have to find out who was in the car. Either they would see his face and pity him or they were Socs looking for a fight and then they’d take his bruises as an invitation. The thought alone made him walk more quickly.

It wasn’t until the car had passed him and turned down another street that he looked up to see where he was going and saw the Curtis house in front of him. He immediately staggered back a few steps, grimacing as he did so.

It was a week night, so there was almost definitely someone home and, while a warm bed and food sounded really nice, especially since his ribs were really starting to hurt, he didn’t want to bother them. Darry worked with the same roofing company that Johnny’s father worked with. It was dangerous work. Johnny knew from how many times his father had beaten him for waking him up when he had work early the next day. He couldn’t take Darry’s bed. If something happened to him at work, if Soda and Pony lost Darry...they’d be worse off than he was. They’d be homeless.

No. He couldn’t bother them. He was already enough of a burden on the gang.

And that was when he heard it, what would slam the final nail in the coffin of his decision.

Laughter.

The sound made his heart squeeze and he walked around the house towards the sound, using his uncanny ability to stay invisible without really trying to keep from being seen. The sound was coming from the Curtis’s backyard and, though most of it was hidden by trees, Johnny could see enough through them to see the entire gang back there, tossing a football back and forth. Sodapop was on Darry’s back throwing the ball to Ponyboy who was on Dally’s back.

They were all smiling.

Johnny smiled too, but his smile was sad.

Not because he felt they were happy without him, but because he knew exactly what would happen if he tried to go join them right now. He could picture it happening in front of him as though he were watching a movie only he could see.

Darry was closest to where he was now, so he’d probably see him first. That bright smile on his face, a smile he wore so little, would vanish in an instant as he straightened to his full height, Sodapop sliding off his back as he did so. Everyone would notice his reaction and turn to Johnny as well. Dallas would frown and straighten as well before storming off, Steve going after him to stop him from doing something stupid that would get him thrown in jail. Two-Bit would go inside and dig a beer out of the fridge and drink it faster than a glass of water on a hot day. Soda and Ponyboy would ask him what happened and he would tell him and they would look away, unsure of what to do or say because what _could_ they do or say? Other than nothing? Other than what had already been done?

No. He wasn’t going to ruin their good time. They didn’t deserve that.

He turned on his heel again and ran until he couldn’t run anymore.

He could hear what they would all say if they knew what he was doing right now too.

_Johnnycake, we care about you. We don’t mind takin’ care of you. It’s okay._

But was it? They were all having fun, something none of them got to have very often, and if he appeared, he’d ruin that. How was that okay?

He shook his head as he ran. It didn’t matter what any of them said. They deserved to be happy. He couldn’t just take that away. He couldn’t just not let them have that. It _didn’t_ matter what any of them said. He was still just a burden.

Later he would never be sure how long he’d run or how far until he looked up and found himself on the outskirts of town. If he turned to the left, he could get to Buck Merril’s place and maybe stay there for a few days. He’d never done that before, but Dallas did it all the time and maybe Buck would recognize him and let him stay based off his relationship with Dallas.

But he really didn’t want to go there. It was loud all the time and eventually Dallas would come there looking for him and for some reason he didn’t want to be found.

That was why he looked to his left.

To his left was the train yard. He had a complicated relationship with the yard, since he’d tried to kill himself by stepping in front of a train four years ago. But that wasn’t the only thing trains were good for. They transported things places. Most often cargo, but sometimes people too.

However, he wasn’t even to the train yard before he came to a set of tracks with a freight train crawling across them. It completely escaped him as to why the train would be going this slow when it wasn’t really near any neighborhoods. But as he stared at it, watching the cars slowly pass him, he remembered that it _did_ go through the neighborhoods. This track led back the way he’d come before curving back around and heading out of the small towns and into the big city.

A car with the door slid open came up to him. Johnny peered inside and saw it was full of crates. He didn’t know what was in them, but there were enough that anyone could hide between them and not be seen unless someone was looking for them. He didn’t even bother looking around before climbing into the car, walking to the back wall and then between an aisle of crates and sitting down.

Sitting, he could see over the tops of the other crates to the open door. He could see the world beyond, moving by slowly, illuminated only by the full moon in the sky above. Even though he’d walked through those streets all his life, they looked almost foreign in the thin moonlight. With a jolt, he realized he’d never been outside of those streets before either. He knew nothing except this town. He wasn’t sure if his heart sped up due to anticipation of seeing something new or the fear of leaving everything else behind.

Because that was what he was doing, wasn’t he?

He was running away. Leaving the world he knew behind, so he wouldn’t trouble the people he loved anymore, so the people he lived with wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore. He wasn’t exactly sure where he was headed, but he knew this train went into the city. Maybe when he got there he’d be able to find the farmer’s market and steal some fruit off the stands without anyone noticing. He didn’t like thinking about stealing. It made him feel bad to commit any crime that hurt another person however indirectly. But he knew it would be necessary. As it was, he hadn’t eaten in a couple of days. If he went much longer without food, he’d start getting violently ill. He knew from past experience.

It was only now he realized how little he’d thought this through. He would need clean clothes and a shower eventually and he didn’t know where to find any of those things in the city. His clothes already weren’t clean. That had been the reason he’d gone home to begin with: clean clothes. And instead he’d left with a busted lip and bruised face and ribs.

The rock of the train made him sleepy and before he knew it he was slumping against the crates around him, watching cars drive by on the highway the train was now passing. His ribs still hurt, but somehow his exhaustion made them hurt less enough that he felt he could sleep. He absently ran his tongue over his split lip, feeling his face throbbing where he’d been hit.

He decided he didn’t really care where he woke up. He’d figure it out.

And that was the last thought he had before he fell asleep.

* * *

The first thing Johnny was aware of when he woke up the next morning was someone digging the toe of their boot into the small of his back. He opened his eyes blearily and looked up to see a man he didn’t recognize staring down at him. He had a mustache and beard and wore a pair of overalls and a construction helmet. Johnny blinked, finding it somewhat odd that someone who worked for the railway wore a construction helmet.

“Gotta get up kid,” the man was saying. “We’re clearin’ out the train for the next load.”

Johnny blinked again, sitting up and rubbing his eyes as he noticed the crates he’d been leaning against were all gone. There were a few other men standing outside of the boxcar, looking at him nervously. He looked away quickly and stood, making sure to keep the bruised side of his face turned away from them. He didn’t want to have to deal with the questions that would come with it.

It wasn’t until he’d jumped down out of the boxcar and started walking quickly in the direction of the train station that he remembered the night before. It was only then he also realized that the train hadn’t stopped in the city. It had come back where it’d started. Johnny didn’t know what that meant, but a part of him was upset this was the case. Now he’d have to go back and find the gang and deal with their worry. If they weren’t worrying about his whereabouts already.

He walked around the side of the train station into the alley between it and the warehouse that held all of the engines, cabooses, and boxcars. He scuffed the ground violently with the toe of his shoe, his stomach growling and reminding him that he had been almost three days now since he’d eaten. His stomach churned at the thought and he hoped the malnourishment wouldn’t make him vomit. That had happened before. It wasn’t pleasant.

Thought of the gang popped into his head again, but Johnny didn’t want to see them yet. He knew they had to be worried by now. It’d been almost a day and half since he’d last seen them. He hadn’t seen them yesterday and according to the huge clock that was at the top of the train station, it was just thirty minutes past noon. A part of him felt guilty for not going to find them, tell him he was alright, but he didn’t want to see their sad, worried faces and know he’d been the one to cause it. Logically, he knew that if he did that for much longer the sadness and worry would morph into anger and maybe even hate, but he never had been good at facing his problems.

Instead, he went into the woods nearby, walking through them aimlessly until he found the treehouse. He’d found it years ago, shortly after Dallas came back from New York, and it had become his hideout when he wanted to be alone. He hadn’t told anyone in the gang about it and he planned to keep it that way. Sometimes he just didn’t want to be found.

The treehouse was damp from the recent rain when he got there, but the insides were still mostly dry. The blankets inside were also damp from the rain blowing in through the windows, but Johnny draped the blankets from the window sills, allowing them to dry and then sat in front of one of the windows, staring out into the forest to the houses he could see in the distance below.

A part of him wanted to go back to the train yard, hop on another train, and hope this one took him not only out of Tulsa, but maybe out of Oklahoma altogether. Maybe things were better someplace else. Maybe greasers and Socs didn’t exist in other states or cities. Maybe that was just here. He knew, deep in his heart, that wasn’t the case, but he had to believe that _some_ place like that existed. If he didn’t, he would fling himself from the windows of the treehouse now. For all the good that would do. This height wasn’t nearly enough to kill him unless he landed just right.

A chilled breeze blew through the treehouse and he shivered, coughing as he did so. It’d been three nights now that he’d slept outside. The last time he’d done that, he’d gotten really sick. Darry had told him later that it was pneumonia and if he hadn’t come to their house as soon as he did, he could’ve died. He knew this cough now was a warning, but it was as though he had learned nothing from that experience. He remained where he was in the treehouse, watching the chilled wind blow through the trees devoid of leaves, hoping the gang wouldn’t find him, hoped they weren’t even _looking_ for him, so he wouldn’t have to worry about worrying _them_ ever again.

He reached up, absently touching the bruise on his face as the world slowly started to grow dark. He wasn’t sure how long he was in that treehouse, but long enough that the sun went down and the stars came out and he could count them as he stared at the moon. A voice was starting to nag him in the back of his mind, telling him to go find the gang, let them stop worrying now, but he still didn’t listen to it. He only took the blankets away from the window sills and curled up in a corner, the blankets wrapped tight around him.

 _You’re still just a burden,_ a stronger voice reminded him as he lay there alone in the dark. _You only make people sad. You hurt everyone around you simply by existing. Do you really think that any of them deserve that? That Dallas or Darry or_ any _of them deserve that?_

The answer was no. He didn’t think they deserved that.

And that was why he was here in this treehouse.

Another cold breeze ruffled his hair and he shivered, hoping he wouldn’t get sick again.

It wasn’t long after that he fell asleep again.

* * *

This time it was bright, early morning sunlight streaming through the windows of the treehouse that woke Johnny. He blinked again, blearily and wondered what time it was. It couldn’t have been early. The sun was already in the center of the sky he noticed when he looked out the window in an attempt to try to tell the time. He didn’t have a memory as good as Ponyboy’s or Sodapop’s. Especially not for this type of stuff.

 _You only remember what you want to remember!_ His mother had accused him once.

But he hadn’t even been able to argue with her because it was true. He did seem to only remember the things that he wanted to remember. Everything he had to write down or he forgot it.

For the fourth day in a row, Johnny’s stomach growled painfully and this time it really did hurt. He held his stomach and grimaced as he pushed the blankets off of him. He barely managed to get down the rope ladder of the treehouse before he stumbled against the tree the house was in and, holding himself upright with one hand, vomited into the dead leaves that covered the forest floor.

It was only bile since he hadn’t eaten in days, but it still hurt. He wrapped his arms around his middle, shuddered and groaned before stumbling away from the puddle of bile in the leaves and heading out of the woods. He had temporarily forgotten all about not wanting the gang to find him. If he had remembered, he might’ve been surprised that it had taken them _this_ long to find him to begin with when it turned out he’d never left the town to begin with. He also might have remembered that they tended to patrol the main roads and therefore wouldn’t have been surprised when a car pulled up to him, rolled down the window, and someone from inside said, “We’ve been lookin’ all over for you.”

Dallas. That was Dallas. He stopped walking and bent over to look into the car. Dally was leaning over the passenger seat to look at him. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Dallas never got mad at Johnny. Not ever. But he looked angry as Johnny got into the car and it wasn’t until Dallas took his chin between his fingers, turning his face both ways, examining the bruise on his cheek with a frown that Johnny realized it wasn’t him he was mad at.

“That why you left?” he asked, his voice soft.

Johnny didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes away from Dally’s face.

“Where the hell were you?” Dallas said, letting his face go. “You were gone for three whole days, John.” Johnny winced at the use of his given name. Dally only used it when he was really upset. “We thought...” he trailed off and this time Johnny did look at him.

There was anguish in his eyes and he realized he was thinking of the bridge that led out of town. They never would’ve known if he jumped off it. Not unless he told them. And with his track record, he wouldn’t be surprised if that was exactly the conclusion they’d all jumped to.

It made him feel more guilty than seeing them happy the day before yesterday had.

“I got a train,” Johnny said finally, cracking his knuckles of one hand nervously. He was biting on the thumb nail of the other. “It just...brought me back here the next day, but...I didn’t wanna be found. I didn’t wanna make y’all worry.”

Dallas laughed bitterly at this last bit and Johnny understood why without asking. It would’ve been easier to just tell him that he’d left because his parents roughed him up a bit. But, of course, he realized this only after he said what he already had.

“Well, great job of that,” Dally said, his voice dripping with venom.

Johnny grimaced again and looked away.

Dally must’ve been able to tell he upset him because he added softly, “Johnny, you should know by now. We don’t mind you worryin’ us. You’re our friend. You’re the pet! It’s kinda our job to worry over you. That’s what it means when you care about someone.”

Dallas pulled over by the payphone near the train yard and called Darry, telling him he’d found Johnny, alive and okay. Johnny stayed in the car, watching him do it, feeling guilty the whole time. Darry worried like this about Ponyboy all the time. He worried so much it kept him up at night. And wasn’t that exactly what Johnny had been trying to avoid to begin with?

He searched the car frantically for something sharp, but saw nothing.

Dallas came back a minute later and started towards the Curtis’s house.

“They mad at me?” Johnny asked softly, chewing on his lip now, still not looking at Dallas.

He must’ve heard something in Johnny’s voice because his own softened considerable as he said, “Nah, kid, they ain’t mad at you. They’re worried about you. You don’t do shit like this normally. Usually when you vanish...it’s cause you wanna hurt yourself. There’s a difference.”

Johnny stayed silent. Unsure of what to say. Everything Dally said was the truth.

“Just...don’t do that again, okay?”

Dallas spoke so softly Johnny almost wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all, until he glanced at him and replied, his own voice just as soft, “I won’t.”

Then Dallas took Johnny’s hand and squeezed it. It was only for a moment and he let go just as quickly, but Johnny knew Dallas Winston never would’ve done that for anyone else.

* * *

“Soda, let him go, you’re gonna strangle him.”

Everyone had gathered at the Curtis house the minute Dally had called Darry and they were all waiting for them by the time they got there. Johnny stepped out of the car and within moments was being mobbed by the gang, all of them wanting to hug him and yell at him for leaving at the same time. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about that other than more guilty.

Now he was in the Curtis’ living room, having Sodapop squeeze the life out of him for the tenth time since he’d stepped out of the car. When he finally pulled back, Johnny looked around the room, taking in the faces of the rest of the gang. They looked happy to find him, but also relieved and the worry that had plagued all of them just moments before was only moments gone. Johnny could see it in all of their eyes.

“You get that here or out there?” Steve asked, jutting his chin at him. It took Johnny a moment to realize he was asking about his split lip and probably the bruise on his face too. It couldn’t have faded in the short amount of time he’d been gone.

“Here,” he said. He didn’t need to say anymore. All of their smiles vanished quickly and suddenly it was like he’d never left to begin with. He looked away again. When no one said anything, his eyes flicked up only for a moment to look at them and he immediately wished he hadn’t. They all looked horror struck, the terror they’d thought they’d left behind returning full force. The only time he’d seen any of them look this way was the night Darry had saved him from the train yard. Either that or the time he’d gotten jumped.

His self hatred deepened.

It seemed he was the only one of the gang that caused any of them to feel this way.

He felt someone put an arm around him and he looked up and saw Darry. He had a glazed look to his eyes. Johnny had seen _that_ look only once before: when he’d nearly killed himself in the train yard. But Darry didn’t give him time to think about it before he said, “C’mon. You look like you haven’t eaten in days. I’ll make somethin’ while you go sower, okay?”

Johnny wanted to cry. He didn’t feel he deserved this kind of treatment. He’d been taught he deserved only pain, heartache, and sadness. How was it that everyone in this room disagreed?

Johnny took short showers and today was no exception. Sodapop let him borrow their hair grease once he got out and after he had a big dinner of macaroni and cheese that Darry made for him. Two-Bit let him have some beer, but took it away quickly when it started bothering his already sensitive stomach. It wasn’t until he thought he was so full he was going to burst that Darry got his room ready for him to sleep in and, for once, Johnny didn’t protest as he curled up in the blankets.

He was almost asleep when the door opened a crack and he jumped upright.

But it was only Dallas. He was carrying a pillow under one arm and a blanket in the other.

“Dallas?” he asked, his voice already thick with sleep. “What’re you doin’?”

Dally shook his head and shrugged as he laid on the ground next to the bed. “Nothin’. Go back to bed, Johnnycake.”

Johnny wanted to smile, wanted to be comforted by this, but he knew that Dally was doing it because he was afraid Johnny was going to disappear again.

 _You don’t do shit like this normally_.

Johnny laid back in bed, frowning. It was only now beginning to hit him just how scared everyone had been. Especially Dallas. Dallas, who never got scared for anyone.

And that had to mean something.

**Author's Note:**

> WE LOVE A REMIX!!!!! dyingpoet is so freakin talented i had to write this <3 this is different from hers cause i wanted to keep within the canon of this universe, so yeah i hope you enjoy anyway!! idk if any of you can tell, but i make a lot of ptsd and panic disorder references because i rly do know exactly how johnny feels, so i can write this realistically.


End file.
